


Me on the Left Bank (You on the Right)

by takemetofantasyland



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Canon Universe, Dialogue prompts, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27412894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takemetofantasyland/pseuds/takemetofantasyland
Summary: A collection of short pieces featuring Dmitry and Anya based on dialogue prompts. All rooted in canon universe.Some pieces are canon divergent. Canon/canon divergence and place where the piece falls in the story are in the notes before each chapter.
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Our Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> “Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?” (Canonverse; the traveling sequence)
> 
> *originally posted to tumblr, reposted to ao3 with edits*

It was early morning in a new city. The image of crossing the border and finally breaking free from Russia was still fresh in their minds. 

Though they had worked together to slip out of the country—and make it within an inch of their lives—after months of living together they had not adapted to living together so well. 

Dmitry’s chest heaved as he dug his hands into his hips. He had looked everywhere. He generally was not so careless to misplace his belongings—years of living on the streets had taught him to be wiser.

He rubbed his temple as he looked around the room. It couldn’t be that he was this absent-minded.

With another sweep, he tried again, searching under his coat, through his suitcase, even through Vlad’s things, dismantling the room.

There seemed to be something he had forgotten, and it wasn’t just where he had misplaced his shirt. 

“Good morning,” Anya chirped as she walked through the adjoined suite.

Dmitry’s mouth gaped as he looked at her. Somehow he was certain a flannel utility shirt was not part of her wardrobe. His finger pointed at the shirt she was wearing but he was speechless. She had rolled the sleeves that were much too long for her and the shirt hung loosely on top of her nightdress.

“Is that my shirt?” He asked.

“Hmm,” Anya looked down at the shirt she was wearing. “You mean our shirt?”

Dmitry balled his hand into a fist to stop himself from lurching at her. Vlad’s words of having patience with her echoed in his mind. But she was making this very difficult.

“Where did you get that?” He demanded.

“My room was cold last night.” Anya didn’t seem too concerned about the matter. 

“Hmm, that doesn’t answer my question,” Dmitry sneered.

“I actually think it does,” Anya replied nonchalantly. “I was cold and needed an extra layer of warmth. What’s mine is yours, and yours is mine, right?”

Dmitry squeezed his eyes shut to keep his temper from boiling over. “We don’t live under the new order anymore!” He barked. “We wouldn’t be going through this ordeal if it weren’t for that!”

Anya slid the shirt over her head and tossed it at him without another word.

Dmitry fumbled to catch it as he caught a glimpse of her leaving the room. He clenched his jaw as he straightened it out and pulled it over his head. As he glared in her direction, he tucked the tails of his shirt into his pants and pulled his suspenders over his shoulders with a frown.

The sun had barely risen and he already resented her.


	2. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You should probably go home.” “But I’m already home.” (Canonverse; post-bridge; expanded for ao3)

The week leading up to the final press conference was a whirlwind of excitement, but also raised the question: where did they go from here? It wasn’t as simple as Anya rejecting a crown as quickly as it had been placed on her head.

She had been staying in her grandmother’s flat until they could sort out how to tell the press. Anya had been cooped up in the flat under the guise that keeping out of the public eye would draw the least suspicion. Her silhouette would appear in the curtains now and then while she paced the room.

Dmitry would come to visit with her so she wouldn’t grow lonely. But there was only so much he could do when he had to leave her again at the end of the night. 

When Dmitry asked to take her out for an evening, she nearly jumped into his arms. He tried to reason with the Dowager Empress that Anya would blend seamlessly into a crowd, she had for ten years after all. The Dowager Empress did not object. If she trusted anyone to take Anya anywhere, it was Dmitry.

So Dmitry took Anya to a nightclub for drinks and dancing. It had to be a better way to settle her nerves than keeping pent up in a flat.

Dmitry offered her a drink and with quick cheers they each downed their own. Anya’s eyes lit up in the evening light as life came back to her cheeks. He couldn’t help but smile when he looked at her. She was so lively, even after all they had been through. He had missed the way she gripped his arm too tight when she was excited. He had missed hearing the pure joy in her laughter. It wasn’t so common these days when she was under a watchful eye. 

Anya gripped his hand and pulled him from the side of the club to the middle of the floor. Dmitry’s heart raced as he watched Anya’s spirits rise.

She took his hand and placed it on her waist with a slick smile, just like they had practiced at the palace. Her fingers locked at the nape of his neck and swayed with him.

For once the worry of keeping her safe slipped away. It was like they led no double life. They were just a con man and a street sweeper once again—though they dressed in high fashion these days. 

By the end of the night, Anya had her cheek pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. His finger looped through one of her curls that had fallen loose and his thumb traced her jaw.

As it grew late, Dmitry had a pit of guilt in his stomach for keeping Anya. He knew it was selfish to want her only for himself. The club began to clear out for the night and he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “you should probably go home.”

Anya stopped swaying and looked up at him. “But I’m already home.”

Dmitry bit his lip. His heart and mind were still at war over her. He knew as much as he wanted to take her hand and take her away from it all, it wasn’t proper. They would have to settle things with Marie first. 

“I belong here, with you,” Anya added.

He squeezed her hand and leaned down to press his lips to hers.

“They won’t know,” Anya whispered against his lips as she tried to reason with him.

Dmitry smiled and kissed her again. “I think someone would notice if they lost the same grand duchess twice.”

“Dima,” Anya whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured her.

Her grip on his hand tightened.

He drew her closer. It was then it really sunk in he was perhaps the person she trusted the most.


	3. City of Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “This reminded me of you.” (Canonverse; post-canon; expanded for ao3)

“Why do I have to keep my eyes closed?” Dmitry laughed as Anya led him down a street. 

She had a fierce grip on his hand—she had a habit of holding on too tight like she was afraid of letting go.

“Because it’s a surprise and if you peek, you’ll spoil it, I told you that,” Anya replied. “You can only open your eyes on the staircase so you don’t trip on the way up.”

A soft laugh escaped Dmitry’s lips. He wasn’t going to disobey Anya’s orders. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze to reassure her he wasn’t going anywhere she didn’t want him to go.

Anya paused to catch her breath, “we’re at the staircase, but at the top you have to close your eyes again.”

Dmitry did as he was told. He caught Anya’s sweet laughter as he raced her up the stairs. He made it to the top first, but he had an unfair advantage—he was wearing a casual suit while she was in a dress and heels. His legs were longer, too.

Anya laughed as they reached the top. Dmitry pulled her into his chest as she caught her breath.

“Close your eyes, Dima,” Anya whispered.

He smiled and shook his head.

She led him to a small viewpoint, where the city of lights was illuminated against the night sky.

“Now open them,” Anya instructed, barely able to contain her excitement.

Dmitry opened his eyes and paused. His jaw hung open as he took in the glimmering lights below them.

“This reminded me of you,” Anya said softly. 

Dmitry was stunned by his own excitement. He looked over the city completely speechless. 

“Tonight there’s a sky and quite a view,” Anya echoed back to him. 

Dmitry’s mouth hung open and he turned to look at her. “Anya,” he managed.

Anya wrung her hands as she watched him.

“How did you—” he was cut off by his own excitement and ran to her and picked her up and spun her around. He held her in a tight embrace.

“I know it’s not Petersburg,” Anya began as she felt Dmitry rest his chin on the top of her head as he looked out over the city.

“It’s more beautiful,” Dmitry interjected. 

“What about Petersburg? You said—” Anya replied.

“The brightest light in Petersburg is right here beside me,” he said softly. “Doesn't matter where we are as long as you're here.”

Anya’s cheeks flushed and her eyes cast away as she wrapped an arm around his waist.

Dmitry turned her chin up and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was the only way he could think to return his gratitude for such a surprise. They called Paris a city for lovers, but as they had come to find it could be any city they were together. 


	4. Hearth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Stay.” (canonverse; learn to do it…ish; edited for ao3)

Dmitry wrung his hands as he paced in the drawing room of the palace. Vlad had already turned in for the evening, leaving Anya as his only option if he wanted to be social.

He cringed as he could still feel the force of the book she had tossed at him in their lessons knocking the wind out of him. Dmitry watched her as she watched the fire dancing on the hearth.

Anya looked up at him with a watchful eye. It was clear neither of them were each other’s first choice of company.

Dmitry paced and eventually settled on sitting on a chaise beside Anya. She pulled her skirts away from him and seemed disgruntled by his presence.

“So,” Dmitry began. “You’re learning quickly.”

He folded his hands in his lap to keep himself from fidgeting.

Anya let out a soft sigh, “I don’t want to do this tonight.”

Dmitry nodded. He didn’t either, he just didn’t know what else to say to her. He watched embers jump on the hearth.

Anya watched the fire in silence. Her eyes were glassy as she watched the flames.

“Do you always lurk by the fire in the evening?” Anya asked sharply.

Dmitry laughed as his eyes cast away from her, “No, but lately I haven’t been able to fall asleep. Vlad always turns in early, but it’s never been so easy for me.”

Anya nodded as she listened. “I know how that feels.”

He looked at her as she stared back into the fire. Anya smoothed her skirts out as they sat together, her cold demeanor softening in the glow of the fire. “Sometimes it’s hard to sleep at all,” Anya added quietly.

“It’s a dog eat dog world out there,” Dmitry replied softly.

As they sat in silence, Anya carefully tucked her hand into his. He inhaled sharply as she looked at him, and then laced her fingers between his.

Dmitry let her hold his hand for comfort. He gently stroked his thumb over her knuckles. Anya scooted closer to him and tightened her grip on his hand as she watched the fire.

As they sat together, Dmitry could feel nerves turning his stomach. He knew he had not been kind to her, but she hadn’t been pleasant to him either. A little compassion seemed to go a long way between them.

“We have a lot to cover tomorrow,” Dmitry cleared his throat and straightened his back out.

He started to stand up and Anya gripped his hand to stop him.

He gasped and turned to look at her.

“Stay.” Anya said softly.

He settled into his spot beside her and she nestled closer to him. It seemed for the first time they actually had come to some sort of truce.


	5. Reflecting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Come back to bed. Please.” (Canonverse; the traveling sequence; edited for ao3)

Night fell on a particularly grueling day of their journey, but the storm that had consumed most of the day continued on into the evening. The downpour had seemingly brought out the worst in them; Dmitry was moody from a few hard days of travel and Anya’s nerves hadn’t really settled since they had crossed through a border town.

Dmitry had been quiet, as he often was when he was in a bad mood. He said he was just thinking, but Anya knew he was reflecting on something— he just never said what. 

That night, Anya had startled herself awake and tried to muffle her own night terror by biting down on her blankets. Without a word, Dmitry came to her bed and sat beside her. He was in a bitter mood, likely from being woken by her scream, but he uncurled her fistful of blankets and held her hand in his grogginess. He silently wrapped an arm around her shoulders to calm her shaking.

They didn’t talk about nights like this. Dmitry had learned how to comfort her purely for survival reasons to keep suspicion away from them. It wasn’t something he had ever asked for when Vlad had offered her the role of Anastasia, but he was learning that life was unexpected that way. They just lived in a society that didn’t reward surprises. 

Tonight his exhaustion got the better of him, and as he held her to calm her nerves, he closed his eyes for a moment and fell back asleep with his arm around her. If there was something Dmitry deliberately did not do, it was laying in bed with Anya. He believed this crossed the line between business partners and something more. After a long day he was fighting to keep himself awake long enough to calm her terror, and his own sleep deprivation had gotten the better of him.

A loud clap of thunder startled him awake again. In his own gasp he woke Anya by mistake.

Dmitry carefully pried his arm away from Anya and slid off the bed. He paced the room and peered through the curtains to calm his racing heart. It was growing more difficult to separate his feelings about her.

Anya rolled over in bed and looked at him. He was trying to shake his thoughts about all of this—about her. Anya suspected he might be doing what he called “reflecting.” He couldn’t leave her crying and shaking in bed. That would be completely heartless. But it was getting harder to leave her when she did eventually fall back asleep.

“Dmitry?” Anya whispered.

“I was just—going.” He muttered.

“Come back to bed,” Anya whispered. “Please.”

“Anya,”

“Just this once,” she pleaded. “It’s storming.”

Dmitry very well knew that claps of thunder fell in the same range as the sound of a gunshot. He couldn’t imagine how awful she must have felt.

He smiled and shook his head as he got back into bed with her, and wrapped an arm around her as he settled down beside her.

“Only because it’s storming,” he replied into her hair.

Anya curled up to him with satisfaction.

It was just part of their business deal, he told himself. That’s all it was.


	6. More than Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I told you to take care of yourself.” (canon divergent—if Anya had chosen to stay with her grandmother; post canon; edited for ao3)

As Anya stepped into the lobby of her grandmother’s apartment building, her eyes caught on a tall disheveled man lingering by the door. He didn’t match the clientele of this building, Anya could tell right away. Regardless, he was still too familiar to her. She would recognize him anywhere.

“Dmitry,” she whispered fiercely.

He turned to look at her with some amount of surprise that she was actually standing in front of him. It was as if he had come here to see her, but hoped by chance he had missed her.

She was dripping in silk and pearls and all fine things her grandmother had insisted were high fashion these days. They might not have an official title, but that didn’t stop Marie from spoiling her granddaughter into a life of luxury. 

It was like a line had been drawn in the sand between Anya and Dmitry. Where they were once so close, they now lived separate lives. 

As she crossed the lobby to him, she drew her hand to her lips. He had a scuff across his left cheek and his brow was swollen—both seemed fresh. His hair concealed it from the unknowing eye, but Anya knew his features too well.

“What happened to you?” she asked

“It’s not important.”

He was as stubborn as ever. Anya let out a sigh and excused herself to speak to the doorman. “Will you please call Madame Malevsky-Malevitch and let her know I won’t be coming? An urgent matter has come up.”

“And who should I say the message is from?”

“Anya. She will know it’s me.”

She returned to Dmitry and grabbed the sleeve of his coat to lead him down a hallway to a powder room. Anya pushed her hand into his chest and seated him on a stool. She stripped her coat off and shoved it into his lap. This would have been where he was disagreeable with her, but tonight he was in some other sort of daze.

Anya dug through her clutch to find anything that could clean the wounds, but found none of it to be useful now. Not when you had fled a country with nothing. She spread lipstick and hairpins out on the counter—this was who she was now, she supposed.

Anya shook her head as she pursed her lips. She grabbed a towel and dampened it. Without a word to him she began to press it to the scrape on his cheek to stop the bleeding. She pressed a cool towel to his brow, and her hand gently cupped his cheek.

“Why are you so upset?” Dmitry asked. His tone was defeated. “You didn’t have to cancel your appointment with Lily for this.”

“I told you to take care of yourself.” Anya replied sharply. “What are you doing here? Battered and bruised, no less.”

He swallowed hard at her sharp words. He might have visible wounds, but the deepest wound was on his heart. The thought that they would never be able to see eye to eye the same way again. 

Dmitry shrugged. “I finally came to speak to you. I meant to leave a calling but by the time I found it in myself to leave one, you were standing in the lobby.”

Her stance softened. She had to put herself in his position. He had come to Paris thinking he had nothing to lose, and instead lost everything.

“Are you going to tell me what happened to your cheek?”

“I’ve had worse scrapes,” he replied.

She smirked as she gently traced his cheek with her thumb. He was supposed to be here by her side.

“Please come up to the flat,” Anya said softly.

“I can’t see your grandmother like this,” Dmitry laughed. He reached up to touch her hand where she was applying pressure to the cut on his cheek.

“She’ll get over it,” Anya replied as she shook her head. “I want you to stay.”

He smiled and shook his head. They had had this argument before.

“You clearly can’t take care of yourself on your own,” Anya added as she ran her fingers through his hair. “I can’t let you wander the streets and get into bar fights like this.”

He nodded. She did have a point.

It was perhaps the only way she could manage to tell him she loved him too much to let him go.


	7. Pillows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.” (Canonverse; the traveling sequence; edited for ao3)

The first inn they had managed to get to on their journey was like a beacon of hope after jumping from a moving train, and walking until Anya was sure she couldn’t feel her feet anymore. There were enough beds in the deluxe suite Dmitry had managed to con for them, so they could each have their own place to sleep. It was like a collective sigh of relief. 

Dmitry had a grin wiped across his face as he walked past Anya’s bed and swiped her pillow. He added it to his own bed and stretched out to settle down for the night.

Anya returned to the suite after asking the innkeeper for directions out of Latvia ahead of their journey in the morning, disgruntled to find her bed without a pillow and Dmitry’s with seemingly twice as many. She kicked her boots off and crossed the room. Anya watched as Dmitry’s jaw tightened as he watched her. 

She curled up on his bed beside Dmitry and rested her head on his torso. He looked down at her with his brow arched. “I thought we got enough beds for all of us?”

“Yes,” Anya replied. “But you took all the pillows, so I’m using you as one.”

This seemed to be a consequence Dmitry had not considered in his mischief.

He took Anya’s pillow and tossed it across the room, “now get off me.”

Anya gasped. She rolled off the bed and retrieved the pillow from the floor. In her anger she threw it back at him.

It narrowly missed Dmitry, but he still managed to catch the pillow and hold it out of her reach.

“Are you giving this to me, your highness?” Dmitry teased.

In her quick move, Anya hadn’t thought that through. “Give it back please!” She demanded.

Dmitry tucked her pillow behind his head and settled down. Anya gripped the corners and tried to pull it out from under him.

“Dmitry!” Anya pleaded.

“Not so quick, are you?” He laughed.

Anya pulled, but her fingers lost her grip and she stumbled backward. 

“Stop it!” Vlad interjected. “Both of you!” He rubbed his temple, nursing a headache from having to listen to them. The only thing he had mis-calculated about the journey was having to parent the pair like they were teenagers.

Anya felt a pang of guilt in her chest as she looked at Vlad.

Dmitry pulled her pillow out from under his head and tossed it at Anya, “sleep well, Princess.”

Anya let out a small oof, as the pillow hit her. She swiped it off the floor and glared at Dmitry. 

“Stop calling me that!” Anya retorted. She took her pillow to her own bed and turned away from him. 

He stretched out on his bed, his long legs almost hanging over the edge of the bed. 

Anya carefully arranged her pillow on her bed. At least she had the last word.


	8. Sweetest Con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It’s you, it always has been.” (Canonverse; post bridge; expanded for ao3)

Anya kept a fierce grip on Dmitry’s arm as they walked through the streets of Paris. She had already let him leave once and she wasn’t willing to let it happen again.

He smiled as they walked under the starlit sky. It wasn’t every night he got to walk the streets of the city of lights with a princess.

Anya struggled with the skirt of her ballgown, and though it was lovely and everything she dreamed a princess might wear, it was becoming rather difficult to manage. She tried to mask it with taking smaller steps in her heels, but after fleeing the country together, it was hard to conceal her moments of discomfort from him. 

“We should get you out of that,” Dmitry suggested as he eyed her struggling in her dress.

Anya’s cheeks flushed as she looked at him. Her survival instinct had kicked in, knowing it would definitely draw attention to them that she was wearing a ballgown and a crown. She nodded.

They made a quick stop so Anya could change into something more practical. She now had a wardrobe filled with fine dresses and shoes, but instead she opted for a cotton blouse and a wool skirt. She caught a smirk on Dmitry’s lip.

It was, after all, the outfit that made her feel most like Anya, not Anastasia.

“Anya,” Dmitry began. His voice trembled as he called her name.

She turned to look at him as she tucked her blouse into her skirt and adjusted it. He wasn’t keeping up any grand persona. The plain look on his face and the way his eyes fixed on her she knew he was speaking from his heart. 

“Why did you come to the bridge?”

She paused as she watched his brow knit. Dmitry was smart, Anya knew that from the moment they met, but it seemed to vex him that she would ever choose to see him again after all he had put her thought. 

She watched the way he was troubled by this, and seemed almost like he wa waiting for her to play some cruel trick in return. She thought he had ripped the carpet out from under her, it would only be fair if she evened the game. 

Anya reached up to brush his unruly hair out of his eyes. “I had a feeling you would be there,” Anya replied. She traced her thumb over his cheek. “And I couldn’t let you leave.

“You got everything you were looking for,” he laughed. “For months we dreamed about what life we could live with millions of Rubles.”

Anya shook her head, “It’s easy to dream of living like royalty when you have nothing. But once I was staring at myself in a satin gown and a crown worn by generations before me, I knew it wasn’t what my heart wanted after all.”

Dmitry laughed, “what else could your heart possibly desire when you’re dressed from head to toe in finery?”

“It was you, it always has been,” Anya replied.

He looked at her as if all the pieces had fallen into place. He swallowed hard as he held her gaze.

She gripped the lapel of his vest to pull him down to her and kissed him for good measure. He could write a smarter con than anyone else she knew, but sometimes he needed a push when it came to deducing what was between them.

“So, where to next?” He breathed against her lips.

“Anywhere,” Anya replied. “As long as we’re together.”


	9. “You’re an Idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You’re an idiot.” “But you love me.” (Canonverse; the traveling sequence; expanded for ao3)

Anya and Dmitry had grown quite comfortable in each other’s company over the months they had spent together. With the occasional banter between them, for the most part they got along as friends. It was hard to explain the shared bond you had from fleeing your homeland together.

Anya waited patiently for Dmitry while he was caught up in an arguement with a local merchant. She had warned him to drop it, but Dmitry was too proud. It was a character flaw. They were working on it.

He returned to her with a smart grin and two fresh pastries. Anya shook her head as she accepted one from him.

“So the usual charm didn’t work and I couldn’t bargain it down, but I still got one for each of us.”

“For full price,” Anya smirked. “I think you left your good bargaining skills in Petersburg.”

Dmitry frowned at this. He peeled the paper back on his pastry, unable to curb his hunger to argue with her any longer.“It’s not my fault the husband was working the stand, and he doesn’t find me handsome!” Dmitry replied.

Anya hid her smile as she peeled back the paper wrapping. She was grateful To be traveling with Dmitry, but he was too much fun to tease. “You’re an idiot,” Anya rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“But you love me,” Dmitry quipped as he took a bite of his pastry.

Anya swallowed hard and cleared her throat as they walked. Love was a very strong word for her. She looked down at the pastry. She wasn’t sure if it was the flaking layers of the pastry or his words that made her mouth run dry. 

Dmitry realized what he had said and buried his embarrassment into finishing off his pastry as his ears turned red.

Anya was quiet as she walked along with him. Her fingers pulled what remained of her piece apart and she chewed it thoughtfully.

“Anya, I–“ he began.

“No!” Anya interjected. “No it’s fine! I-I knew what you meant.”

“We’ve just been-“ he clarified.

“Right,” Anya agreed. “When you flee the country together–“

“Exactly.” Dmitry bit his lip as he turned away from her.

There was a beat between them.

Anya turned to look at him. It was rare for Dmitry to be so open, and so open about how he felt about her. She knew it was a slip, but hearing those words roll off his tongue might haunt her for the rest of her life. 

Dmitry shoved his hands into his coat pockets and kicked a rock on the ground as they walked.

It would never quite slip her mind how he masked his kindness and generosity toward her with bravado. 


	10. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t know where else to go.” (Canonverse; after PHTK; expanded for ao3)

Dmitry woke to a knocking on his door. He stumbled out of bed and groggily answered the door to find Anya on the other side.

“Anya?” He asked as he squinted at her. His mind has not caught up to what he was seeing in front of him. His hair was disheveled from sleep and he quickly tried to run his fingers through it to look somewhat presentable.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Anya replied as she wrung her hands. She stood barefoot in her nightdress, unsure how to explain that she had come to him in fear from a nightmare, but the thought had since subsided. 

“You could start with your bedroom,” Dmitry replied. He tried to cover a yawn. His personality was starting to catch up with him.

“I can still see him,” Anya lowered her voice.

“Who?”

“Gleb.”

Dmitry grabbed her arm, pulled her into his room and shut the door. “Gleb?”

“I’m fairly certain it’s Gleb,” Anya tried to recall. “It was a uniformed figure, tall and haunting. Aged beyond his years. A stillness in his eyes from the things—the horrors— he’s seen.”

Dmitry’s lips parted as he listened. He tried to conceal the fear in his face.

“Where?”

“In a nightmare,” Anya looked up at him. Her hands were trembling.

Dmitry led her to the bed and sat down with her. “The deputy commissioner isn’t here. With any grace he’s still living out his miserable life in Petersburg.”

It was apparent that this thought was not comforting to Anya. 

“I can still see the faces,” Anya whispered, fear struck in her eyes. “There were so many faces. More than the deputy’s. Every night they come.”

Dmitry held her hands and ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “It was a nightmare, it isn’t real,” he reassured her.

Anya nodded. She gripped his hand as she sat for a moment longer. 

She broke his grip as she stood up, “Goodnight Dmitry.” 

He reached for her hand and missed. 

Anya held her hand to her heart as she turned her back to him and paused. 

“You can stay a little longer if you need to,” Dmitry said softly.

He had to comfort her nightmares and tell her they were just dreams, but sometimes the vivid scenes she described were troubling to him, too. 

Anya returned to his side. She delicately took a seat on the bed beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. He gently wrapped an arm around her. He had done this many times before, but this was by far the most severe. 

“It was just a dream,” he whispered, almost trying to convince himself.


	11. Ruffians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Is this really the time for jokes?” (Canonverse; after The Neva Flows; expanded for ao3)

Dmitry let out a low whistle as he caught Anya walking quickly through the park. She was small, and often walked quickly to compensate, but tonight she seemed to be moving with urgency. 

At the sound of his whistle she paused and looked around. She spotted him and rushed to his side. 

“Careful, there,” he laughed. 

“Dmitry,” Anya whispered. 

He arched his brow as they walked together and he peered at her out of the corner of his eye. 

“They know where we’re living,” Anya added in a low voice. 

Dmitry let out a soft laugh and a smug smile wiped across his face. 

“Why are you laughing?” Anya demanded. 

“Who knows where we’re living?” He decided to humor her. 

“His name is Gleb, and they know about the palace—“ Anya explained. “I’ve only just come from his office.”

Dmitry tucked his hands in his pockets as they strolled through a park. He pulled his cap off and shook his hair out. He seemed rather unbothered about the urgency of the situation. 

“You’re not the least bit worried?” Anya asked.

“About what?” He shrugged. Dmitry replaced his cap on his head.

“The deputy commissioner?” Anya replied sternly. She had explained to him how she had been brought to Gleb Vaganov’s office for questioning. Never a good sign these days.

She could still feel Gleb’s cold eyes on her. The way he looked at her like a prize rather than a person.

“Vaganov?” Dmitry’s laugh broke her thoughts. “No, he couldn’t hurt a fly if he wanted to.”

“Is this really the time for jokes?” Anya tried to reason with him. So Dmitry didn’t take this seriously either.

“Look, Anya, I know you’re new to Petersburg,” Dmitry replied. “Or ‘Leningrad’ as they’ve decided to call it. But those of us who have been around awhile know Vaganov is full of empty promises. He says big words and takes no action.”

“They know where we’re living,” Anya tried to convey the sense of urgency to him. She felt a chill down her spine as she thought of Gleb’s subtle threat.

They wandered down a street together and suddenly found they weren’t alone. A group of men sitting around a park bench seemed to worry Dmitry more than the officers.

The men called out to Dmitry and he held his arm out to protect Anya. He was taking the peaceful approach of ignoring them, but the less he said the louder they were in return.

Anya craned her neck to look around Dmitry, and he pushed her behind him with his arm. 

“I don’t like these people,” Anya whispered. And then she felt him take her hand.


	12. Crossing a Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Your hair is really soft.” (Canonverse; after PHTK/Crossing a Bridge … but not sad this time)

Anya returned to their hotel suite and quietly shut the door behind her. She was sure Dmitry and Vlad had turned in for the night. Carefully in her heels, she walked cautiously across the room. She exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. 

Her instincts had kicked in, and she was making herself as small and quiet as possible, like she was dodging a Bolshevik officer, when really she only needed to be careful not to wake her two friends who would give her a hard time in the morning if she did. 

It was bizarre to live a life without survival at the front of her mind. Anya set her guidebook down and looked around the still suite. She smiled as she started to her bedroom.

She was startled by a pair of footsteps that weren’t her own. 

Dmitry walked through the suite and paused as he looked at her.

“Anya?” Dmitry smirked “did you just get in?”

She turned to look at him. He was dressed in pajamas and his hair that had been carefully styled hours before was now damp and messy. “Yes, I took a late walk to see the lights,” Anya replied. “We could only be here a few nights, I might as well see as much as I can.”

Dmitry nodded and gently rubbed the back of his neck. 

Anya eyed him, cutting the unspoken tension between them, “Did you enjoy your bath?”

Dmitry’s cheeks flushed. “It was fine. The hot water works, in case you were wondering.”

“Good to know,” Anya smiled. Her feet ached from walking in heels, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Dmitry in his domestic state.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Dmitry huffed. He ran his fingers through his hair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Anya replied. She took a step to him and stood on her toes to fix a piece of hair that had fallen in his eyes.

As she brushed it back her fingers paused in his hair. He looked at her.

“Is something wrong?” He asked.

Anya’s cheeks turned pink and she tucked her hand behind her back. “Your hair is really soft,” she said quietly.

Dmitry laughed and Anya cracked a smiled. “Is that all?” He replied.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Goodnight, Dmitry.”

“Goodnight—” he watched until she disappeared into her room as he stood in the middle of the suite.


	13. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Are you jealous?” (Canonverse; post-canon; edited and expanded for ao3)

On a lively evening Lily convinced Anya to come out to a new club with her. ‘It’s all the rage, Darling,’ Lily had promised. So with Vlad and Dmitry in tow, and a couple friends from Lily’s social circle, they were out for the night.

Dmitry nursed a glass of vodka as he sat comfortably at a table with Vlad. The way he slumped into his chair and swirled his glass made him look like a bitter old man. Anya sat idly beside him, watching couples dancing across the floor. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her chair, her eyes glassy as she watched dancers whirl.

“Dima, we should join them,” Anya said with bright eyes. She had to put all those hours spent practicing dancing with Dmitry to good use somehow.

“They’re not waltzing,” Dmitry disputed and drowned any hope of dragging him to the floor with the last swig of his glass. “Another?” He offered Vlad as he tipped his glass to him. Vlad shook his head, already a glass or two deep.

Anya was helpless between the two of them. Luckily Lily caught her pleading eyes from across the club and swept in to her rescue. “Anya, come dance,” Lily took her arm and ushered her away from the table.

“But- Dmitry—“ she protested. She turned back to look at him. He looked less than thrilled to be mixing with socialites this evening.

“Nastya, Darling, your first lesson from me is not to let him spoil your night!” Lily cooed as she towed Anya across the club. “He takes after Vladimir, what did you expect?”

Lily pushed a shot glass into her hand, “drink up, Darling.”

Anya looked at glass and then at Lily. She did as she was told, wincing as it burned her throat. Anya clasped her hand to her mouth as she swallowed. 

“Now, come,” Lily spun her out onto the floor. 

Anya suddenly had cold feet. “I don’t know this dance,” she lowered her voice.

“Sergei will teach you!” Lily grinned as she gestured to a man across the floor. “Sergei!”

A tall, handsome man took Anya’s hand and led her away. She stole a glance at Dmitry over her shoulder.

Sergei slowly taught her the dance to catch her up to speed. As she danced with him and he spun her around, she smiled and laughed. She couldn’t believe after all the tireless nights they had spent trying to work through dancing that Dmitry wouldn’t want to join in on the fun. He usually wasn’t so reluctant to join a good time.

Anya excused herself to catch her breath and returned to the table. Dmitry’s eyes were fixed on an empty glass. 

“Are you having a good time out there?” He asked bitterly.

Anya moved the glass away from him, and his head snapped up to look at her. “You should try,” Anya tugged at his sleeve.

“Seems like you and Sergei were getting on just fine,” Dmitry replied as he turned away from her. 

Anya’s mouth gaped as she nearly laughed, “Dmitry Sudayev are you jealous?”

“No,” Dmitry muttered. “I just don’t know what you’re keeping me around for.”

Anya’s fingers traced his jaw and turned his chin up to look at her. She fixed an unruly piece of his hair. 

She took a seat on his lap and caressed his cheek. “I wouldn’t need to dance with Sergei if you joined me,” she cooed.

He pursed his lips at this.

“Please,” Anya whispered as her fingers wandered down his neck.

Dmitry turned to kiss her and she gripped his jaw to stop him. “First you have to dance.”

His lip curled into a smile. He knew he had heard those words before. 

His hand rounded the curve of her waist, and Anya caught his hand and drew it into hers. 

He let out a dissatisfied grunt. She was purposefully being difficult to get what she wanted. Dmitry wasn’t new to this game, but he was still terrible at it. 

Dmitry let Anya slip off his lap. She towed him with her back to the floor, and showed him how to dance. 

Vlad shook his head as he watched them. You could never quite take the stubbornness out of either of them.


	14. Crossroad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You’re just a softie.” (Canonverse; after Journey to the Past)

“Anya!” Dmitry called.

He had run down the hill as fast as his long legs would carry him, and dragged Vlad along with him. 

Her heart was racing at the possibility ahead of them. Anya had never felt so close to a crossroad in her life. She could turn back now and never know what ever was or ever could be, or she could run down that same hill and take the plunge headfirst to find the answers she had been searching for. 

Anya turned back to look behind her. The driver who had taken them to the top of the hill sped off in the distance. Anya exhaled to calm her pounding heart. She grabbed her suitcase and took off down the hill to catch up with Dmitry and Vlad. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, coming to a halt by Dmitry’s side. He and Vlad stood, stunned, as they overlooked the city.

There was a stillness between them, like the calm before a storm. 

The city twinkled below them, and Anya had never seen a place that looked so much like a fairytale. She turned to look at Dmitry, a spark catching in his eye. 

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Dmitry asked with a boyish grin. “It’s not Petersburg but, boy, it’ll do.” He pulled his cap from his head and twisted it in his hands.

Anya smiled fondly. He would never admit anywhere was better than Petersburg.

She couldn’t blame him. Love it or hate it, you never really detached yourself from your homeland.

“A book or a photograph certainly doesn’t capture its beauty,” Anya replied. She must have seen a dozen photographs of Paris, but none could capture the way the lights sparkled as the sun set over the city. 

Dmitry nodded in agreement. “Well, you know they say Paris is for lovers. I can’t imagine they’d say that about a place that wasn’t as romantic as it’s tales.”

Anya smiled as she looked at him, “do they say that?”

His ears turned red. “I don’t know, I think I read it in a book once,” Dmitry cleared his throat. “Or something like that.”

“I think you’re just a softie,” Anya teased as she took his hand and led him the rest of the way down the hill. She couldn’t help it. It was like they arrived in Paris and suddenly she was overcome by the romantic ideation of it all.


	15. Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a rejected ficlet I started to fit one of the prompts and decided I didn’t like how it fit the prompt. I cleaned it up and decided to just throw it in here with the rest of them. :)  
> (traveling sequence)

Dmitry knocked on Anya’s door after she had disappeared at the end of their dinner. She had been rather reserved today, but not the way she was reserved when she was tired and in a bad mood from traveling. Vlad had already retired for the evening and Dmitry was otherwise left alone.

He had learned on this journey that Anya was a good listener. Sometimes when Vlad tired of their bickering and went to bed, the pair realized they weren’t so different after all. He reluctantly would admit Anya actually made good company.

“Anya?” He called as his fingers gripped the doorframe.

“It’s open,” Anya replied.

He pushed the door to her room open to find her sitting on the bed and staring out the window at the moonlight. The light stretched her shadow across the room, giving her her an unbeknownst presence over the room and Dmitry held his breath. 

“Are you alright?” Dmitry asked. “I’m only asking, because earlier you-you were quiet at dinner.”

Anya turned to look at him. 

He wrung his hands.

“What if I really am who you say I am?” Anya replied.

Dmitry’s lips parted. It was the kind of night, where Anya was deeply haunted by a past she didn’t know.

Dmitry sighed as he took a seat, sinking into the bed beside her. “What about it?”

“What if I’m not who the Dowager Empress expects?” Anya asked.

Dmitry paused. He had never quite let Anya in on the fact that the Dowager Empress wasn’t expecting her at all. “The Dowager Empress has no expectation for the Anastasia she lost. It was many years ago, and as you and I can agree many things can change over the years. So she can’t be disappointed by someone she doesn’t know.”

Anya nodded as though she only half believed him.

“You won’t know unless we try,” Dmitry reassured her.

Anya nodded as she clasped her hands together. “Sometimes I get these ideas. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have them at all.”

There was a beat between them. Dmitry wanted to tell her anyone would be lucky to call her their granddaughter, but the words caught in his throat and he held his tongue.

Anya’s hand snuck into his and she laced her fingers between his. She wasn’t usually one to initiate touch between them. But one stroke of her thumb across his hand was an act of trust.

He let her hold his hand for as long as she needed in silence. She needed the comfort and he couldn’t take that from her. As her eyes grew tired she rested her head on his shoulder as they stared out the window.

Dmitry cleared his throat, “I should go.”

Anya’s head snapped up and he stood up but her hand interlocked with his and sent a jolt through his arm. Anya looked up at him as he tried to turn away.

“Stay.” Anya said softly.

His lip curled into a smile. Anya had been cold to him from the day she set foot in the palace. He thought he might have caught the slightest glimpse that she might finally be starting to warm up to a truce.


End file.
